ASH, AARYA, INES, and I sit in the cab silently. I lean against the window, watching the lit-up London streets as we go. I slip my hands in my sweatshirt pockets, still bummed we couldn’t bring our coats. Aarya insisted we’d have no place to stash them after sneaking into the hotel—no place we could guarantee that we’d get them back, anyway. I slowly press the buttons on my cell phone in my pocket, typing On way into a text message to Layla and Matteo.
I’ve been updating them all day, piece by piece as the planning came together, an action I initially imagined would be reassuring. But Layla only proceeded to find fault with every strategy. And the whole thing felt odd, like I was a double agent of sorts, erasing all evidence of our texts and not telling Ash, Aarya, and Ines what I was doing.
I keep my hand on the phone, but I can’t tell if they’ve replied because I set it to silent. I chew on the inside of my cheek, and my thoughts drift back to what Matteo said about me being selfish. I want to push against it, denying that it could be true, given the countless risks I’ve taken in the past month. But I’m also not sure I can argue that my actions had a higher purpose beyond staying alive and protecting my dad.
The cab stops, interrupting my train of thought. We pile out about five blocks from the hotel and I can feel the reassuring pressure of the knife stashed in my boot as I step onto the sidewalk. I gently touch the rope tied to my belt and readjust the backpack on my shoulder, which is full but light, stuffed with my ball gown and mask. The air is unusually biting, given our lack of layers, but no one seems to notice.
Ines and I walk behind Ash and Aarya down the busy London sidewalk populated by a fashionable late-night dinner crowd and upscale bar patrons. Spirits are running high and holiday lights are everywhere. Ever since we exited the cab Ash and Aarya have been arguing about what route to take, which is impressive, considering it already took us an hour to agree on one earlier.
Ines walks casually, like she doesn’t have a care in the world, but her eyes are so alert, I wouldn’t be surprised if she could describe the last fifty people we’ve passed from memory. I, too, scan the crowd, looking for the signature hawkish Strategia eyes that are out of place in otherwise relaxed behavior.
It occurs to me how markedly different my life is in this moment. I must have walked down the street with a group of friends a thousand times in Pembrook, laughing and talking. And here I am now, walking with another group of friends, but on my way to sneak into a ball in London where the penalty for getting caught crashing is certain death.
Now only one building away from the hotel on the opposite side of the street, I can see two men dressed as security guards outside the front entrance. One is unusually large, with copper hair, and the other is slender, with a ponytail.
Hawk’s crew!
I glance at Ash, who I can tell shares my concern by the worry line in his forehead. As if it wasn’t going to be hard enough to sneak into a huge, well-lit, well-guarded property, now we have people who will not only recognize us but threatened that they would hand us over to Jag.
I pull my hoodie up, better shadowing my face, and we cross the street right at the corner of the hotel and far too close to the guards for comfort. Eddie and Willy scan the sidewalk in front of them, taking note of every person nearing the door. Eddie looks in our direction. I loop my arm through Ines’s and lean my face on her shoulder, laughing—a casual pose Emily and I often assumed and one that is typically un-Strategia. Eddie looks right past us and we continue down the street running along the side of the hotel, slipping out of his line of sight. I stand up straight once more and Ines gives me a curious nod of approval. And even though I’m fairly certain we went unnoticed, I do a quick glance over my shoulder just to be sure.
The hotel property is sprawling and takes up an entire city block, but the building itself is only about four stories tall. We circle down the side of it, around the back where the hotel presses up against a park with gardens and tall trees, and continue past it and around the other side. All the entrances save the main one are closed, with signs that redirect patrons to the front of the building. For a moment I think maybe we’ve had a stroke of luck and that there will be fewer guards to navigate around.
“Unfortunate,” Ash says. “With Hawk’s crew at a singular entrance, it will make it nearly impossible to get out if something goes wrong.”
Aarya stares at Ash from under lowered eyebrows. “That was Hawk’s crew? I guess this is what I get for pairing up with you two against my better judgment.”
I slip my hand in my pocket.
Me: All entrances blocked but front. Need distraction for guards in case we have to run for it.
And the second I type it, I’m exceedingly grateful Layla decided to follow us.
“I still say it would be simpler to pick one of the locks on the side doors instead of counting on November’s climbing skills,” Aarya continues, keeping her voice down and giving me a wary look.
Ash shakes his head. “And risk coming face to face with a security guard who is likely guarding the inside of that door? No thanks.”
“A guard we could easily knock out with Angels’ Dream,” Aarya says, bringing up one of the many options we disagreed on earlier.
“Aarya, we already decided,” Ines says calmly, the same way you might remind a child to pick up their toys.
Aarya frowns at Ines. “No loyalty, I swear.”
And so we retrace our steps to the back of the building where it adjoins the park.
“Well, let’s just hope November doesn’t screw this up,” Aarya adds, but no one responds.
We walk close to the hotel wall, stopping under a balcony leading to a second-story room. From what I can tell from the ground, the lights are out and the curtains are drawn. We take a quick scan of the park to make sure no one is nearby. We all look at each other in silent agreement that this one will do.
“Ready?” Ash says, and I nod.
Ines faces the park, scanning for possible onlookers, and Aarya stands with her arms crossed and a sour expression. She’s been resisting me all day, and I have no idea why. Maybe she never got over her suspicion about me being out so early this morning, or maybe she’s still pissed that I don’t want to rip Jag’s head off with my teeth. It’s hard to tell.
I grab the white stone of the wall and hoist myself up. There is a fair amount of decorative work and the grooves around each stone are deep enough that climbing the wall is no problem; I could grip these handholds in my sleep.
I wedge my boots on a small ledge, pushing up, and grab the second-floor railing. I get a good hold with both hands and swing my legs over the side, landing silently on the stone balcony. I sweep my eyes over the park below. A group of four twentysomethings, all wearing Santa hats and talking too loudly, walk along one of the park paths. I look below and my friends have shifted to casual poses and appear to be chatting.
The instant the loud group passes, I grab the rope off my belt, tie it securely around the railing with a tight double knot, and drop it down to them. Ash is the first one up and he winks at me.
“Brilliant work,” he whispers, and I smile back at him. It feels kind of exhilarating, getting to use my climbing abilities.
Ash pulls out his lock-picking tools, and by the time Aarya and Ines climb up, he’s got the door open.
Ines unties the rope from the railing and we all step inside, locking the door behind us. Even in the dark, I can tell that the room is luxurious. There are heavy drapes on the windows, a king-sized bed with a high headboard and a chaise lounge at the foot of it, and an open door leading to an equally lavish sitting room. Suitcases lie open on wooden luggage racks, and in one of them I spot the corner of a masquerade mask. My pulse quickens at the sight of it. We’re in a Strategia’s room. I creep to the door leading into the sitting room and peek through. All is silent, but for how long?
Aarya eyes the suitcase. “Let’s get on with it and get the hell out of here,” she whispers, and I know she must see the mask, too.
Ash ducks into the sitting room and I head into the bathroom, shutting the door behind me. I take off my backpack and unzip it. The black-and-white tulle skirt explodes out of the opening—I had quite the time compressing it earlier this evening. I pull out the dress and yank off my sweatshirt, tying it securely around my waist. I tuck my gloves into my jean pockets and my hat into my left boot, so as not to crowd the knife in my right boot. I slip the dress over my head and wiggle into the form-fitting black bodice. The tulle is so puffy that it completely conceals my jeans and my tied sweatshirt below.
I grab my phone and unlock it. There is a message from Layla waiting for me.
Layla: We have you covered. Waiting nearby.
Me: In. Won’t be able to read responses here on out. Wish us luck.
It only takes a moment for her to reply.
Layla: Understood. And it’s not luck; it’s skill.
I smile at the text before erasing the thread and shove the phone into a hidden pocket in my skirt—something Ines added for us to conceal our weapons and the ointment, and a lucky break for me.
I exit the bathroom just as Aarya is helping Ines smooth a wig over her signature red hair. In a matter of minutes, we’re all in formal wear, save our boots, and I tie on my black-and-white mask. It covers my entire face except the underside of my nose and my mouth.
Ash returns from the living room wearing a long velvet cape pushed back over one shoulder and a mask that appears to be sculpted out of gold leaf. I stare at him in awe while he collects our backpacks and steps out onto the balcony, tossing them down into a nearby bush.
He closes the sliding balcony door, and the moment the lock clicks into place, muffled voices come from the hallway. Ines runs to the hallway door with fast silent steps. She peers through the peephole and we all stand poised to flee—although climbing down this building covered in copious amounts of tulle would be a good way to break a bone.
Ines turns around. “It’s clear,” she whispers, and I let out a huge sigh of relief.
She looks back out the peephole and cracks the door. She peers through the opening, looking in both directions. I count to five in my head. Ines turns, nods, and then steps into the hallway. We waste no time in following her. But the moment the door clicks shut behind us, my stomach flips. There’s no turning back. We’re in a Lion-run Strategia hotel, uninvited, and all the exits are potentially blocked by guards.
We walk down the long hallway at a steady pace, my heart beating so loudly that I’m surprised Aarya hasn’t scolded me for it. Ahead of us is a grand curving staircase, and the closer we get to it, the more I wonder about my dad’s clues. Each one has been aimed at me but has ultimately been useless without my Strategia friends to help decode it. Was he trying to protect me by not letting me do this alone? But then again, if he wanted to protect me, wouldn’t he just tell me where he was and protect me himself?
We make our way down the stairs toward a large elegant lobby that has a comfortable seating area, a bar, and the entrance to a restaurant. Scattered throughout are masked Strategia in gowns and tuxedos. I want to lift my skirt on the stairs, but I can’t risk revealing my boots or, god forbid, the edge of my jeans.
We head toward the bar, scoping out the room as we go. On the far side is a red velvet rope. And in front of the rope is Hawk. I suck in a quick breath and hold it for a few seconds. Even though I’m wearing a mask and know it would be nearly impossible for him to recognize me across the room, I’m unnerved. Ash and I share a glance and I can tell he’s thinking what I’m thinking—bad effing luck.
“What?” Aarya hisses as she grabs a spot at the far end of the bar where the drinks come out.
I sit down next to Aarya, but Ines and Ash remain standing.
“The crew leader is at the rope,” I say, keeping my voice down.
Hawk greets two guests as they arrive, and they lift their masks. He takes a good look at them while a server offers them a glass of champagne. He gives a quick nod and moves on to ask the next guest to lift her mask.
Aarya stares daggers at Ash. “Care to do anything else to make this harder than it already is? Maybe you want to streak across the room…or light a curtain on fire?”
Ash winks at her and leans lazily against the bar. “We knew the crew would be a problem. I’m shocked that you’re shocked.”
Aarya gives him a withering look.
While some Strategia go straight to the velvet rope, others appear to be in no rush, casually chatting on couches and drinking at tables. And thankfully, there are also some clusters of non-Strategia to use as marks.
I slip my hand in my pocket, searching out the keys on my phone, and type to Layla.
Me: Entrance problems. Will update when in motion.
“Far right, four-top,” Ash says, and I follow his eyes.
Four non-Strategia men seem to be engrossed in conversation and drinking something of the whisky variety. There are enough empty glasses on the table to indicate they have been consuming a fair amount.
“Agreed,” I say. “It’ll seem like they naturally drank too much.”
Ines nods.
And we wait, scoping out the room for other possible marks to create our diversion. But despite my best efforts, my eyes keep drifting to Hawk, and while I can’t hear what he’s saying, I’m certain he’s memorized the guest list, making him far more organized and savvy than I originally gave him credit for. I eye the champagne server standing next to him. From his uninterested expression and the fact that he keeps checking the clock on the far wall, my bet is that he’s not Strategia and is merely a hotel employee.
“What about the champagne guy?” I say, and look at Ash.
“I considered him, but spilling drinks isn’t enough to distract someone like Hawk,” Ash says.
“It might work if it was part of our larger distraction,” Aarya says. “But we would have to get uncomfortably close. How sure are you that he won’t recognize you behind those masks?”
“Look,” I say. “He’s speaking to each person individually. If we arrange it so that you and Ines are in front of us, it might work.”
“My vote is yes,” Ines says, and we all turn to her. “I can unbalance the server if November can push the drinks toward Aarya.”
“No problem,” I say. “And if our distraction doesn’t work, you can create a stink, Aarya, storm off to the bathroom, and we can regroup.”
Aarya smiles. “Creating a stink is what I do best.”
“So then we’re agreed,” Ash says, and we’re all quiet, the nervous kind of quiet that happens right before you step onstage or run a race.
Next to Ash, the bartender preps a tray with four glasses and fills them with the same amber-colored alcohol the men at the four-top are drinking.
Me: Get ready.
I clasp Ash’s hand, passing him the small jar of Drunken Confessions ointment. Ines fluidly shifts her position so that she blocks him from the view of the rest of the room. Ash pulls a toothpick out of his pocket, unscrews the jar lid, and scoops out some of the clear goo. When the bartender turns to replace the alcohol bottle on the shelf, Ash swipes the toothpick along the bottom of the drinks where the glass is thicker and will hide the smudge. I’m assuming it’ll also make it less likely for the server to accidentally touch the ointment.
Not a minute passes and a middle-aged woman dressed identically to the champagne server collects the tray with the four drinks. And just as we hoped, she delivers them to the table of non-Strategia men.
We wait while the server removes the plethora of empties. I count the seconds off. Five seconds until the first man grabs his tumbler. Two more seconds before the next does the same. And four seconds after that until the last two join in. At which point the first man leans forward, bracing the table and drooping his head. Hole in one. The second man, also losing control over his movements, overgesticulates and knocks the leaning man’s glass right off the table. It lands with a loud crash, shattering on the shiny stone floor.
The lobby crowd turns to look, including Hawk, and the server rushes to get something to clean it up with.
The first man tries to stand, clearly annoyed with the second, but he only makes it halfway out of his chair before he grabs the table awkwardly. His weight tips it, sending the remaining glasses sliding into him, and everything crashes to the floor.
“Now,” Ines whispers, and we walk at a casual pace toward the velvet rope, pausing briefly to observe the chaos in order to blend with the rest of the room.
We approach the rope, Ines and Aarya side by side and Ash and I behind them. I force myself to relax with each step we take toward Hawk, unclenching my hands and lowering my shoulders.
The table of men has two servers at it, nervously trying to clean up the mess. I hear one of them tell the men that they’re cut off, and everyone involved is getting increasingly loud.
“If you’ll only follow us…,” the male server says.
“I will not!” one of the men replies indignantly. “I’m not done here.”
“I’m afraid you are done,” says the female server.
In my pocket I type Now into my phone and press Send, only hoping that Layla and Matteo succeed in distracting Eddie and Willy out front.
We stop near Hawk, who gives Aarya a quick glance. “Welcome,” Hawk says in his scratchy voice, momentarily looking toward the drunken argument. “Please remove your masks and help yourself to a glass of champagne.”
“Do you know who I am? Do you know how much money I spend in this hotel?” says one of the men in a booming voice. “You can’t kick me out. I’m not leaving.” I hear what I think is a chair crash behind me.
Well, there’s the truth serum part of the ointment.
“Take your hands off me!” exclaims the man.
Hawk turns his attention back to the altercation, frowning.
Ines reaches for a glass of champagne, pulling it forward quickly and into the lip on the edge of the tray hard enough to unbalance it. The champagne server isn’t looking at Ines, he’s staring at the stumbling men like everyone else.
“Watch out,” Ines says to the server, who immediately attempts to readjust the wobbly tray.
I reach out in the same moment as though I’m trying to help, stepping forward and directly into his path. He trips over my ankle and I reach up, sending the almost-steadied tray flying, crashing into Hawk and soaking him and the hem of Aarya’s skirt.
Hawk growls at the server like he might eat him.
“I’m sorry. I don’t know what…Sorry,” the server says, trying to pick broken glasses off the floor.
“Look at my dress!” Aarya says with annoyance, and my heart sinks. She must think we have no chance of getting past this rope.
Hawk takes a handful of fast steps away from us. I hold my breath in hopeful anticipation as he grabs some cloth napkins from an empty table, but as he turns back in our direction, my chest deflates. Damn it. Before he can return, though, the argument at the table escalates. I look just in time to see one of the men lose his balance and crash into the male server, knocking them both to the floor.
Hawk pulls his walkie-talkie off his belt. “Eddie,” he growls into it. He waits a beat, tries again, but there’s no immediate response. And in that moment I’m grateful to Layla. But I also feel a sense of pride, like maybe I’m better at being a Strategia than I originally thought.
“Shit,” Hawk says under his breath, and my body tenses. I’m afraid to blink. Hawk turns toward the champagne server. “Leave that and go get one of the security guards from the front entrance.”
The young guy stands and for a second I think Hawk is going to walk back to us. But he doesn’t; he heads toward the altercation. We don’t waste a second. We step around the rope and slip through the door.
The ballroom is brimming with Strategia. I gulp. There must be more than three hundred people here. First thing I do is search for alternate exits. But unfortunately there is only one other door, above which is a small sign that reads WC in fancy script. I’m fairly certain it stands for water closet, which I’m guessing means it leads to the bathrooms, not an exit; to top it off, it’s guarded from the inside. And the windows are the large picture kind that don’t open, which means being discovered or causing a scene here would be disastrous.
“How can I help?” Ash asks, breaking my train of thought.
“I’m not sure yet,” I say, quickly taking in the details of the room, which is decorated in a winter wonderland theme.
The high ceilings are strewn with white lights, looping into the center and hanging down like sparkly snow. Along the walls there are twinkling white artificial trees; the tables are laid out in all white with silver candelabras and fragile china, and a live band plays Christmas music.
As we walk through the crowd and tables, a platform becomes visible with a single table on it. Perched behind that table like it’s a royal court sit three people in matching red-and-gold masks—an old man with silver hair that reaches his shoulders, who I can only assume is Jag; a woman with strawberry-blond hair in an elaborate braid, who must be Rose; and a young guy with a shock of white-blond hair.
I look at Ash, giving him my best expression of shock from behind my mask, and his eyes reflect my surprise. I’m just glad most of my face is covered, because he doesn’t seem to realize that I already knew Brendan was here.
“You’ve got to be kidding me,” Aarya says, noticing him, too, and I can’t tell if she’s happy that she might get a chance to take him out or if she’s annoyed to have another obstacle.
As they begin to discuss this development, I look away from my Lion relatives and force myself to study the room.
“Okay, let’s see,” I say, more to myself than to anyone else. “My dad and I made decorations every year for the masquerade ball. So if I had to guess, whatever we’re looking for is connected to the decor.”
“Was there a common theme for the decorations you made?” Ash asks, and the conversation about Brendan dies down.
I shake my head. “It changed every year.”
“Is there anything here that feels personal or like a coded message?” Aarya asks.
“Maybe the trees,” I say. “I mean, I grew up next to a forest and we spent a lot of time in the woods, but there have to be at least forty trees in here and they are pretty uniform. So I’m not sure that’s it.”
I scour the room, starting at one end and moving strategically to the other, looking for anything that sparks a memory or stands out. But like the trees, most of the decorations aren’t unique, just one of many scattered throughout the room. We weave in and out of the tables and I stop at one to get a closer look. The centerpiece for each table is a glass vase filled with white twigs, white flowers, and a branch of pinecones with white-painted tips. And surrounding the glass vase are tea lights and, at this table, a card with the number 32 written on it in calligraphy.
They all stop with me as I stare at the decorations.
“It’s not that there aren’t things here that are personal,” I say. “In fact, there are a ton of things. The fake snow—every single year my dad and I would get hot cocoa and sit outside on the first snowfall of the year. The pinecones—I decorated some in school when I was in third grade with glitter and googly eyes to look like me and my parents. And the trees, like I already said.”
They all stare at me.
“Gross,” Aarya says, and Ines elbows her. “What?” she says to Ines. “It’s ridiculous how sentimental she is.”
“I think it’s beautiful,” Ines says, and there is something almost wistful in her voice.
“Could the message be like your collages?” Ash asks me. “Some combination of all those stories?”
I consider the idea. “My instinct is no,” I say. “Those pictures combined in a really specific way. These don’t. Not to mention that each of the decorations is replicated all over this room. This is table thirty-two and I would bet there are close to fifty in here with the exact same arrangement. It doesn’t make sense that my dad would have us go through fifty tables or trees just to hunt something down.”
The band finishes playing their song, but instead of starting another one, they fall silent, and so does the room. Jag stands from behind the table on the platform, lifting his glass of champagne.
“Family and friends,” he says in a deep voice. “We are so pleased you could join us on this special day.” His tone is confident and warm and he has a relaxed air about him that makes him easy to watch. I stop momentarily. How can someone so awful be so charismatic?
Jag’s mask isn’t as concealing as ours, leaving half of his face visible. He has a strong jaw like my dad and the same even hairline. The similarities are unnerving.
My dad places a grilled cheese sandwich and tomato soup on the coffee table in front of me where I sit on the living room floor, surrounded by library books detailing the origins of names by country and mythology, Latin root words, and linguistics.
“Take a break and eat before your food gets cold,” he says, sitting down on the couch with a book of his own.
“Mmm-hmm,” I say in agreement.
“The name books will be there when you’re done,” he says, but I can hear the smile in his voice. He’s always encouraged me to immerse myself in new subjects, not merely to learn them but to dig deep and pull them apart piece by piece like a mechanic rebuilding an engine.
“It’s just so interesting,” I say, shoving a bite of soup-dipped grilled cheese in my mouth and keeping my eyes on my book. “They all mean something—last names, first names. All of them. And once you get the hang of it, they’re pretty easy to decipher. Ask me a name, any name.” But before he can give me one, I start talking again. “Like for instance, your name is English, but it stems from the late Greek Christophoros and it means ‘to bear’ or ‘to carry,’ which makes sense because you’ve always had a lot of responsibility. People’s names tell you something about them.”
My dad puts down his book and listens; he always listens. “What if people don’t know the meaning of their own name—do you think the meaning ceases to be relevant, or does the meaning hold whether they know it or not?” he asks, and I look up from my reading to consider his question.
“I’d have to say”—I pause, reviewing the names I know and the qualities of the people who have them—“they hold. Whether people know it or not, their name says something. Sort of like the difference between the words cinnamon and stink. Cinnamon just sounds happy and brings up an image of something pleasant, whereas stink just…stinks.” I down a spoonful of tomato soup. “So go ahead, ask me a name.”
My dad thinks for a few seconds. “Hamilton,” he finally says.
“Hamilton?” I say. “Like American history Alexander Hamilton?”
“Like my father,” he says, and for a moment I’m taken aback. He never talks about his family. He told me once that his parents died before I was born and that he was never close with them. When I asked for more information, he just said there was nothing more to tell. I didn’t even know that was his dad’s name.
“Your dad was named Hamilton?” I ask, curious. “Boy, are you lucky you got Christopher. You could have been Hamilton Junior.”
“You have no idea how lucky,” he says, and even though he matches my smile, I can tell his heart isn’t in it.
“Okay, Hamilton,” I repeat. “It’s derived from Old English, and hamel in Old English means ‘crooked.’ ”
“Interesting,” he says.
“Right?” I say, wholeheartedly agreeing.
Jag sweeps his eyes across the room. “The appointment to Regent is not only a great honor but a great responsibility. Brendan is young but strong, like I was at his age,” he says. Brendan smiles at the praise, but not in the cocky self-confident way he would have at the Academy. This Brendan seems to be more reserved, almost shy.
We all glance at one another, silently confirming the unfortunate reality that Brendan is being appointed. I remember Ash telling me that Jag took over as head of the Family when he was only a teenager, and that everything went sideways from there. I can’t imagine that power will look any better on Brendan.
“Of course this appointment comes with a heavy heart after the untimely passing of his stepfather,” Jag says, like it’s a great tragedy. “But as I always say, one must not lose oneself in sorrow at a time like this, but rely on logic and strategy….”
People around the room nod and Jag clocks their agreement.
“Strategic planning to apprehend the perpetrator of this unforgivable attack, who we believe further insulted our Family by removing a lion from its rightful habitat,” Jag says, and the crowd hangs on his every word.
I look at Ash to see if he’s thinking what I’m thinking, that my dad intentionally provoked Jag with the zoo prank because he knew Jag wouldn’t let it pass without saying something.
“Whoever the criminal is, I assure you that he will be not only eliminated, but made an example of,” Jag continues. “We are employing all available resources. And in addition to our own skilled trackers, we’ve contracted the Ferryman in this sensitive matter.”
There are approving murmurs throughout the room. While this is information I already have, it somehow sounds more ominous coming from Jag.
Jag waits for the crowd. “And I am pleased to report that the updates have been most promising. In fact”—he pauses for effect—“we may very well have the culprit in hand before the end of the evening.”
Surprise ripples through the room and I find myself frozen. The masked Strategia begin to whisper to one another.
Aarya looks at me with worry in her eyes. If Aarya’s worried, it means that wasn’t Jag’s bravado—my dad is in real and immediate danger.
“Now,” Jag says, “let’s not spend any more time on this unpleasantness. This is, after all, a celebration.” He lifts his champagne glass. “To my grandson, Brendan.”
“To Brendan,” the crowd echoes, and Jag returns to his seat.
I glance at Ash, my pulse racing, but he’s not looking at me, he’s looking at the crowd. The band once again starts playing and the room explodes with excited conversation.
“November,” Aarya says with insistence, and I turn toward her. “Now. You need to find that message from your father now.” She nods in the direction of the door. Hawk stands inside it, scouring the party guests like he’s looking for something. And I’m willing to bet the something he’s looking for is me.
My breath comes fast and my mind spins, making it harder to concentrate. I scan the decorations again, searching for anything that might spark recognition. But they appear as uniform as they did a few minutes ago. I want to cry out of frustration. Everywhere I look is a dead end. The crowd thins a bit behind us, and Aarya pushes us farther into the center of the room and away from Hawk.
“November,” Aarya says again with emphasis.
“I know,” I say, matching her urgency, trying to clear my thoughts of panic.
“Well, whether you know or not, we need to get out of here,” she says.
“Enough, Aarya. You’re not helping,” Ash says.
“Helping? I’m trying to keep us alive,” Aarya says.
“Don’t focus on the room, focus on what you know,” Ines says, and I turn to her. “You told us you used to make party decorations with your father, no? What exactly did you do?”
I consider Ines’s question, forcing myself not to look at the surrounding threats. “We built them from scratch. We’d go to the art supply store and a hardware store and spend a good couple of weeks during the summer constructing them,” I say.
“Let’s start with that. Most of these decorations aren’t handmade,” Ines says, and I realize she’s right. “Arguably nothing in this room was crafted except the centerpieces on the tables.”
Ash nods his agreement. “And in those centerpieces, the most handcrafted item is the branch with the pinecones—the tips were painted white and they had to be glued onto the branch,” he offers, and before he even finishes speaking, I’m looking at the centerpieces, hopeful.
“So, okay, sentimental pinecones,” Aarya says with urgency, telling me we’re just about out of time. “Let’s start looking.”
We weave in and out of the tables, subtly inspecting the pinecones in each vase as we go. But each table has decorations like the one before it—one branch, four pinecones, and no message. My stomach twists and my chest tightens. My eyes flit nervously to Hawk. If we’re wrong about these pinecones, there’s no time to make a second guess.
Once again the band stops, only this time it’s Rose who stands. “If everyone will please take their seats, the serving staff will bring in dinner,” she says, and her delivery is cold, lacking the charisma that came so easily to her father. “Your invitation included your seating assignment. However, if you are unsure which table number is yours, please consult the gentleman at the entrance.” She gestures toward Hawk. “Enjoy.”
“Oh, shit,” I say, and we all share a look. We are about to become blaringly obvious the moment people sit down.
“If we’re lucky there will be openings at one or more of the tables,” Ash says, and I can hear the apology in his voice. “But getting into them without being noticed is unlikely. I’m sorry, November, it’s time for us to go.”
I fight back panic. “The Ferryman is closing in on my dad—tonight. There’s no way I can leave when we’re this close.”
“Finding the message isn’t worth being killed,” Ash says when I don’t move.
I hesitate for a moment longer, searching for any argument that we should stay. But as much as I hate it, I know Ash is right—there’s no finding my dad if Jag gets ahold of us.
Aarya eyes Hawk. “We’re not getting back through that door, not without creating a scene.”
“We’ll have to risk the bathrooms,” Ash says, and Ines nods her agreement, but I don’t ask them what they mean because all my concentration is still on the pinecones.
Aarya leads the way to the door with the WC sign above it and the large security guard. We pass tables twenty-two and twenty-three, which I scour with unabashed hope. But like all the other centerpieces, there is nothing unique about the pinecones. I feel like screaming, I’m so mad at myself, at my dad, and at the situation in general.
Every step we take toward the door feels like a failure.
“November,” Ash says when I lag by a step.
“Fifty tables, Ash, and we only looked at fifteen of them,” I say. “Why on earth would my dad leave us that many tables to search? He could have at least left me the table number in the last clue.” And as soon as I say it, I stop walking and look up at Ash with new determination. “Ash, when was the date of that historic ball from Logan’s sign? The Bal des Ardents.” My words are fast.
Ash stops, too, and his eyebrows momentarily dip. “The year was 1393.” He pauses. “I want to say January?”
“We will never exit this room,” Aarya says, like maybe we don’t understand the gravity of getting caught, “if we don’t walk toward the door.”
“Ines, what was the date of Bal des Ardents?” Ash says, ignoring Aarya.
“January twenty-eighth, 1393,” Ines replies, and recognition of the missing clue sparks in her eyes.
“So table twenty-eight,” Ash says.
“Or table one,” I say, “for January,” and as the words leave my mouth, I realize my mistake. “Go. I’ll catch up.”
I turn, immediately walking toward the tables, not asking them to come with me—with more than half the crowd seated, it’s a risk I don’t expect them to take.
If one is for January, then eleven is for November.
But as I near the tables, it occurs to me that I can’t inspect the pinecones in front of the dinner crowd. And I don’t have a plan for taking the pinecone branch out of the arrangement. I’m going to look like a complete nutter or like I’m up to something. I press my nails into my palm. Think, November, this is your only shot.
I’m so focused on getting to table eleven that I accidentally bump into a Strategia woman holding a glass of champagne, almost knocking it out of her hand.
“Pardon,” I say in my best imitation of a proper Layla, and I wobble my step as I move away from her. “I think I’ve had a few too many glasses myself,” I say with a smile, quickly explaining away my un-Strategia-like clumsiness.
“That’s quite all right,” she says, like she doesn’t mean it, and before she can scrutinize me too closely, I turn and zigzag through the tables.
And it occurs to me, if that woman will accept a claim of drunkenness, maybe others will, too. After all, this is a celebration and there appear to be copious amounts of alcohol. I stop abruptly in front of table eleven, which is already three-quarters full.
“Good ol’ table twenty-one,” I say, hiccupping and plopping sloppily down in a chair that has a woman’s scarf on it.
The man next to me frowns disapprovingly. “This is table eleven,” he says. “And you’re in my wife’s seat.”
“Oh my goodness gracious,” I say, ignoring him. “Have you ever seen such a lovely centerpiece?” I flick a decorative branch with my pointer finger. “It’s just”—another hiccup escapes in what I consider a damn good impression of myself drinking whisky—“beaufitul, beautitul, feautibul.”
“Please do forgive us,” Ash’s voice says behind me, and I lean back, nearly falling out of my chair. I grab the table for support. “We went to the bar a little too early this evening,” he says, taking my arm to help me stand.
I wobble and swipe the branch with the pinecones. “You’re not getting away from me that easily, gorgeous,” I say to the branch, and pause as though it’s speaking back to me. “No! You flirt!” I pause again. “Oh, all right, but only one…,” and then I press the pinecone into the man’s cheek and make a kissing sound. His face looks so shocked that I don’t need to concoct a laugh. The one that erupts from my mouth is real.
Ash immediately escorts me away, shooting an apologetic look over his shoulder, and I make a show of stumbling as I hug my pinecone branch. I resist looking up at Brendan or back at Hawk. Each step we take through the tables feels like it could be our last.
A few people take note of us, and I hiccup as I pass, leaning my weight on Ash as we go. Just let us get out of this room. Twenty more feet and we’re in the clear. As we reach the end of the tables, I get a good look at Aarya and Ines. They haven’t left, but they are standing awfully close to the exit.
As we approach, I realize Aarya isn’t looking at us but past us and across the room, and I can tell by her expression that she doesn’t like what she sees.
“Hawk’s looking this way,” she says, and it takes all my self-control not to make a run for it.
Instead, we walk at a reasonable pace to the door, me wobbling and laughing.
“I’m correct in assuming this is the way to the loo?” Ines says to the guard as though she owned the place, and the confidence in her voice surprises me.
He nods, examining each one of us and pausing when he gets to me and the branch I’m clutching. He tilts his head, unsure, like he might tell me to leave it behind. My heart pounds against my ribs and I do the only thing I can think of in that moment. I lick it. I lick the branch from bottom to top, because even children know that no one wants to touch something someone else licked.
The guard narrows his eyes and Ash steadies me as I wobble.
“Are you going to open the door?” Aarya says, impatient, daring the guard to object. “Or are you merely decorative, in which case, step aside.”
The guard grumbles under his breath at Aarya’s rudeness, but her challenge works and he opens the door.
Ines nods a thank-you and Ash helps me out of the room. The minute the door closes behind us, we pause for a fraction of a second to examine the empty hall ending in two doors. There are no turns leading back to the lobby, no windows to climb out of; there is no way out.
I look at Ash, my eyes widening. “Please tell me we didn’t just trap ourselves.”
But he’s not looking at me, he’s walking and so are the others. “Not sure yet.”
I grip the branch a bit tighter, as though I were protecting it from an unseen threat, and follow them to the end of the hall.
Aarya opens the door to the women’s room and Ines and I follow her. She quickly bends down, checking underneath the stalls, and opens the door again, beckoning Ash in. He locks it behind him.
He looks at the bathroom like he’s planning a battle. “No windows.”
“Not a one,” Aarya says. “And despite my applause-worthy work with that guard, I’d say we have about ten minutes before he comes back here looking for us.”
I scan the room, my eyes falling on a vent near the ceiling. “Don’t commercial buildings have huge heating and cooling vents? Could we maybe—”
“That only works in the movies,” Aarya says.
“While some HVACs might be large enough to fit us, if we attempted to crawl through it, we would make an untold amount of noise,” Ash explains.
“So what exactly are we—” I start, but stop as I realize they’re now staring up. I would stammer about how we’re not actually going to climb through the ceiling, but of course we are. It makes more sense than any other route right now. And suddenly I’m reminded of something Professor Basurto said during my first tree-climbing class. There’s my favorite use of trees—evasion. They are the perfect escape route because they offer unpredictable terrain. While this isn’t a tree, it follows the same basic principle of evasion by using the things around you in unusual ways.
Ash carries over a fancy garbage can that has a small hole in the top and a wide lip. He climbs on top of it and pushes aside one of the ceiling tiles.
He sticks his head up into the ceiling. “It’s wide enough,” he says, and the moment he says so, Aarya and Ines start unzipping their dresses.
“Unless you want your skirt to get caught on some wiring and potentially plummet through the ceiling, I suggest you change now,” Aarya says, and I don’t waste a moment.
Ash pulls off his black-and-gold cape and tosses it into the ceiling with a light thud, climbing up after it. I yank my skirt over my head, and as it hits the floor, Aarya scoops it up, climbs onto the garbage can, and hands all three of our dresses and masks up to Ash. I can hear them hit the bathroom ceiling in various places as he throws them, which I suppose makes more sense than trying to drag them behind us.
I readjust my sweatshirt, placing my phone in my pocket and checking my boot dagger. Ines glances nervously at the door and it occurs to me that it’s not only the guard we have to worry about, it’s the other Strategia.
Aarya pulls herself up into the ceiling and Ash pops his head down. “Ines, you next, since November is the tallest.”
The idea of being the last one in the bathroom hits me like a jolt of electricity. Ines quickly climbs the garbage can and I look over my shoulder at the door like it might bite me. She reaches out to take the pinecone branch and I reluctantly hand it over.
“Replace the garbage can in its original position,” Ash says, speaking quickly, and the instant Ines’s legs lift off it I pull it back by the wall.
“Now unlock the door and check the hall,” Ash continues, and the urgency in his voice tells me he dislikes me being the last one in the bathroom more than I do. “If all is clear, leave it unlocked and come over to me.” Ash positions himself so that his arms hang down into the room. “With a good jump, I should be able to pull you—” Ash stops talking and gives me a sharp look.
Women’s voices spill into the outside hallway, and there’s the muffled sound of a door closing behind them.
“Leave it locked,” Ash says.
“Don’t you dare leave it locked,” Aarya snaps back.
“Now, November, jump now,” Ash says in a commanding whisper, but I’m already running for the bathroom door.
Aarya’s right. Ash is trying to protect me, but if I leave it locked, the women will instantly know something’s wrong, and the guards will be after us in a minute, completely ruining our head start. I turn the lock and sprint toward Ash, launching myself into the air and grabbing his arms above his elbows.
He pulls me hard, sliding me into the narrow space along a metal beam so fast that I scrape my stomach. I yank my legs up, lightly kicking a ceiling tile, before finding a beam to brace myself on. The door cracks and Aarya slides the missing ceiling tile back into place, dropping it the last half inch so slowly that I hold my breath. And we all fall into complete silence. Ash continues to hold one of my hands as I balance on my stomach on the thin support beam. He pulls out his phone and uses the faint glow from the screen to show me the structure of the dropped ceiling.
The metal beams form a grid of two-foot squares, and there are only a handful of inches of clearance above my head, making the only option for forward motion an army crawl on my stomach. To my far left is a wide metal tube used for heating and cooling that is probably the reason we have as much space as we do. And there are tangles of wires running alongside it.
Ash points forward in the soft glow of his phone, which to my relief has us moving away from the ballroom and not over it. Aarya gives him a thumbs-up and we slowly and methodically crawl in the direction of Ash’s dim phone screen.
My elbows and knees press into the metal as we scooch along and I’m certain we’re all going to have bruises tomorrow. We move as fast as we can while still remaining silent, and I look over at Ines, who is carrying the pinecone branch in her teeth. We’re only a short distance along when Ash holds up his hand, telling us to pause. He lifts the corner of a tile and peers beneath it for a split second. He points to his right, slightly changing our direction, and we follow along behind him.
Ash pauses again, lifting up the corner of another tile, and this time I hear a group of adults recapping their evening at a gala and laughing. Ash waits, continuing to peer down through the sliver of space. I hear the ding of an elevator, and as the doors close, the chatter is abruptly cut off. Ash holds up his fingers, counting off—three, two, one. The instant his last finger falls he pushes the tile aside, grabs the metal support beam, and swings himself down. I’m next, and by the time my feet hit the ground Ash is already three doors down and pressing the button for the elevator.
Ines drops with Aarya right behind her. The elevator doors open and we fly inside the empty space. Ash pushes the second-floor button, and as the doors close behind us, Ines offers me the branch, which I gladly accept. The air between us is tense with the fear that the guard has likely checked for us by now and found us missing. None of us says a word as the elevator climbs and the doors reopen.
We step out, do a fast look both ways down the hall, check the room numbers, and reorient ourselves. No one has to tell us to hurry, we all just start running, taking a corner faster than is safe, down the hall and to the room we changed in. Aarya does a quick knock on the door. She presses her ear up against it and, after three grueling seconds, concludes that no one is inside. Ash whips out his lock-picking tools, and the instant it clicks open, we pile in.
We run through the living room and bedroom and out onto the balcony. Ash relocks the balcony door, using his tools, and I tie the rope. One by one they climb down. As soon as Ines lands on the ground, I toss the branch gently down to her and untie the rope. I swing my legs over the balcony and waste no time grabbing hold of the decorative masonry. I work myself three-quarters of the way down and jump the last few feet into the grass.
Ash hands me my backpack, which he retrieved from the bushes, and I shove the branch into it as we all book it out of the park. When we’re three blocks away without any obvious pursuers, Aarya looks at me and her serious expression melts into a smirk.
“You’re absolutely mental, you know that? The way you licked that branch…” She laughs. “I always thought you had some quirk, but that was brilliant.”
“You didn’t see her make the pinecone kiss the man at the table….I’ll never forget his look of utter shock and horror,” Ash says with a grin.
And now that we’re on the sidewalk hailing a taxi with the branch in my hand and no Hawk staring us down, I allow myself a laugh, too.